


Begin With a Sax-Bomb

by iwastetimechasingcars



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Geeze this might be the gayest yet, M/M, One Shot, and, bc i love one shots, but - Freeform, honestly i just focused on the interactions of them as a couple, im sorry, its just so gay, jeanmarco, stuck black friday shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:39:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8996851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwastetimechasingcars/pseuds/iwastetimechasingcars
Summary: “You’re Marco, right?” “Yeah,” Marco smiled, “Your resident first-year sax player.” It was at that moment that Jean realized he might have been slightly more inclined to tall, dark, and handsome men than what he previously thought. --In which Jean and Marco are waiting for Target to open for those Black Friday Deals^TM.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrbobbobbert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrbobbobbert/gifts).



> Hello, Charpie!!   
> I'm your secret santa (?? i don't even know if that's the right terminology??) 
> 
> I loved the AU where Marco was the band geek bc as someone who spent three years of their life in the guard and marching band program, just writing about it was nostalgic.   
> I tried to make this as cute as I could, so I really hope you enjoy it!! Thank you!!

The first time Jean met Marco, Marco interrupted his fourth hour with a loop of  _ Careless Whisper _ on his saxophone. It was part of the band’s fundraiser, where students  _ actually paid the marching band to go into someone’s class and play a song in their face.  _

It wasn’t Jean who got the “Sax-Bomb,” though. 

No, he owed that honor to Eren Jaeger. 

It was in the silence of the computer lab when he heard the words  _ “Eren Jaeger, you have received a Sax-Bomb.”  _

And in rushed three of the band’s saxophone players, launching into the  _ Careless Whisper _ intro. The effect was instantaneous, with Eren growing red with laughter at the formation of the three musicians and the class erupting into laughter. They were determined to do what they could to embarrass Eren, and at the peak of their performance, the three ripped open their button-up shirts. 

As an open bisexual, Jean could say  _ Oh, the sight of a sculpted and tanned chest  _ afterwards.  

It was both comical, and an effective use of seven dollars, in his opinion. 

The first time Marco met Jean, he was returning to the bleachers after a half-time performance at a home football game. Marco was equal parts of sweaty and exhausted, but the adrenaline of performing would run through him all night, just like every performance. 

“You’re Marco, right?” 

Marco turned to see him, and moved out of the way to let the other band members sit down. 

“Yeah,” Marco smiled, “Your resident first-year sax player.” 

It was at that moment that Jean realized he might have been slightly more inclined to tall, dark, and handsome men than what he previously thought. 

It was Jean’s first football game (and to this day he will swear that he went to support his friends on the football team) and he managed to end up sitting next to Marco for the rest of the game. 

He had sat through pep songs and the rivalry with the opposing band, trying to outmatch the other with how much louder they could perform, but he found himself to be Marco’s friend at the end of the night. 

Three days later, Jean received his own Sax-Bomb, courtesy of the resident first-year sax player. 

Which, coincidentally became the day that Jean realized he had the inkling of a crush on Marco. 

In the coming weeks, Marco would find himself as part of the orchestra for the school’s musical performance of  _ Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.  _ Likewise, he found himself practicing multiple nights a week with the lead vocalists, including Jean. 

Which, coincidentally became the way that Marco found himself getting a crush on Marco. 

On opening night, Marco asked Jean to a celebratory dinner--just the two of them. 

And they kissed--just the two of them. 

It wasn’t made official until Marco’s first Championship Marching Band competition. 

The thrill of other bands who were just as determined and as focused as he was fueled him. 

Jean tagged along on the buses, sitting next to Marco. It wasn’t until the break stop on the way, where the both of them trekked to McDonald’s, where Jean asked him if he could call Marco his boyfriend. 

Marco said he could call him whatever he wanted and he’d be okay with it. 

“Holy shit, Marco” Jean curses, “Why is it so goddamn cold?” 

Marco sipped at his hot chocolate and looked to Jean. “It’s winter?” 

“Marco it’s Black Friday.” 

“You do know it’s eleven and we’re waiting outside of a Target, right?” 

_ “It’s still November.”  _ Jean leans back against the wall of the building, sliding himself down to sit. Marco follows. 

“Jean you aren’t even wearing a warm jacket.” 

_ “It’s my Theatre Jacket”  _

“From your first year.”

Jean huffed at him, clearly losing his argument. He sips at his coffee, hoping that it would stop his shivering. 

It didn’t. 

“Do you want a warmer jacket?” Marco asked. “I have one in the car.” 

The image of the terrible parking spot that the two of them had unfortunately gotten passed through his head. 

“The cars like three miles away.” Jean tells him. Marco rolls his eyes and sets his hot chocolate on the sidewalk next to Jean. 

“I’ll be right back.” Marco assures him. “But if the old lady selling tamales come by I expect you to buy me a few.” 

“You’re going to leave me?” Jean asks, watching as Marco raised to stand. Behind him, Jean could see the stars and constellations lining up with his freckles. 

“You won’t even notice I’m gone,” Marco says, “here.” He unwraps the scarf from his neck and passes it to Jean. With that, Marco takes off into a sprint towards the parking lot. 

Jean sighs, and wraps the scarf around him. Watching the retreating figure of his boyfriend disappear in between the cars. 

Jean knows he should have worn a warmer jacket. The third-year theatre jacket would have worked--they always make those the thickest--but by the grace of some unnamed god, Jean grabbed his first-year jacket. 

He doesn’t count it as a loss though, because Marco’s grandma knitted the scarf that Jean was now wearing, and part of it smells like the band room and the other smells like Marco. 

When Marco comes back, he’s hardly huffing, but he did unfasten the buttons on his peacoat. 

“I could have sworn we parked closer.” Marco said, sitting back down next to Jean. “All I have are the band warm ups.” Marco tilted his head and handed it to Jean. “While thin, they work surprisingly well for sneaking food into the arenas.” 

Jean sits forward, swinging the jacket over and zipping it up. Looking down, the detail of the embroidery on the front of it reminded him of his first year memories of swinging by Marco’s late night band practices. They would be cold, but none of the band members would wear jackets from how much each run through of their show exerted them. That year the show was called  _ Mirror, Mirror on the Wall.  _ Jean found himself part of the prop crew at competitions, constantly around the soloist (she was in guard. Her name was Mikasa. That was her third year.). They won silver. 

“Each of your band jackets spell your name differently.” Jean says, “I honestly still don’t know how to spell your name right.” 

Marco stops drinking from his hot chocolate and looks over to Jean in disbelief. “Is that why any present you give me is addressed to  _ my babe _ and from  _ your babe _ ?” 

“Actually, _that’s_ because I have so many different ‘babes’ that I don’t risk mixing up the presents.” 

Marco smiled at him. “Have you ever noticed that your first year jacket actually misspells your last name?” 

Quickly, Jean pulls down the zipper of the topmost jacket to reveal his theatre jacket. He pulls down on the fabric, trying to read the small print. “Marco, what the fuck-- these don’t even have our names on them.” He zips the sweater back up and pouts at his boyfriend. “Oh, I see that. You’re enjoying messing with me.” 

Marco shrugged, “I think I enjoy seeing you in my jackets more.” 

Jean blushed, hoping to hide it in the scarf. 

“Do you even realize how much you’ve grown since your first year?” Jean asks him. “I swear to god, if you put this jacket on and flex you’d rip it to shreds.” 

“Everyone says it happens when you switch to tuba.” Marco replies. A teasing smile grows on his lips, “Whereas you have been the same size since your first year.” 

“Have not!” 

“Jean you still wear your shirt with doge on it.” 

“Nobody can ever grow out of doge and we both know that.” 

“You wore it for the posada my mom threw our first year.” 

“The  _ same  _ posada where all of her church friends told me to join the church’s choir.” 

“ _ That was because you spent months learning songs from  _ Selena  _ to impress her.” _

“She was  _ very _ impressed, Marco. Don’t be mad if I can sing Spanish songs better than you.”  

“I’m not mad.” Marco said, he took a sip of his hot chocolate again, “As you can tell I really  _ grew  _ from the experience.” 

“Fuck off.” 

In another pout, Jean takes a final sip from his coffee. He traces invisible patterns over the styrofoam cup, and leans his head onto Marco’s shoulders. 

“You never told me what you wanted for Christmas,” Marco turns his head slightly to whisper to him. “My entire family is expecting me to get you the  _ best  _ Christmas gift for our final year.” 

“Are you saying that once we graduate you won’t be getting me Christmas gifts, Marco?” Jean lifts his head to look at him. “Is this something that Mexican people do? They just  _ stop _ believing in Christmas gifts?” 

“I’m Puerto Rican!” 

“You’re a lot of things.” Jean said. He leans closer into Marco’s face, smelling the hot chocolate off his breath. 

“Mexican isn’t one of them.” Marco replies. 

“No,” Jean agrees, “But you’re definitely the best thing to have ever happened, you know that right?” 

“I know that we’re what bridged together two different arts programs.” Marco said, “I know that you didn’t get along with Eren until you met Mikasa when she was in the color guard. But next to sliced bread, I don’t think the  _ best thing.”  _

“To me you are,” Jean assures him. “I mean, without you I don’t think I’d even  _ know _ what a tamale is.” 

“If that’s the case, then I probably am the best thing that’s happened to you.” Marco smiles, “A life without tamales isn’t a life well lived.” 

“Actually,” Jean said, “The tamales probably aren’t really the best part--” 

Marco stops him with a kiss, the breath of some word lost between them. 

“I love you,” Jean says, “And totally not because of the tamales.” 

“I love you, too.” Marco whispers, “And totally not because of you being able to sing Selena.” 

Jean breaks into a large smile, “I’d sing now, but it’s too cold to try to not butcher it.” 

“I think that’s just an excuse because you really forgot the words.” 

“I did not forget the words.”

“Just like you forgot your lines in  _ West Side Story _ ?” 

“You know  _ exactly  _ why I forgot my lines!” 

Marco nodded, "Yeah, I do." 

Jean smiled at him. "You should kiss me."   


Marco smiled back. "Yeah, I should."


End file.
